


before i learned civility

by badskeletonpuns



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Minor Emily Potter, Nesting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Self-Indulgent, Tenderness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, samben, seriously make an appointment with your dentist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/pseuds/badskeletonpuns
Summary: Ben's not in rut, he's just... sort of itchy and grumpy and snappy at everyone but Sammy. That desire to build a nest of pillows on his bed and keep Sammy there all day could be a symptom of anything!Or no one's written an ABO fic for King Falls AM yet, and somehow I evaded arrest from the Trope Police long enough to write one myself. It's a lot of self-indulgent fluff and Ben embodying the trope "idiots to lovers."
Relationships: Ben Arnold/Sammy Stevens
Comments: 16
Kudos: 76





	before i learned civility

**Author's Note:**

> possibly the second most self-indulgent thing i've ever written, after the wingfic.  
> if you don't like abo or samben, i would perhaps turn elsewhere for your fluff? anyway! the title is from t. swift's seven, because i've listened to one thing on repeat for the past three days and it's folklore.  
> this one goes out to the people who have left me some incredibly sweet multi-paragraphy comments on my other samben fics!!! you know who you are and i'm sorry, this probably wasn't the next samben fic you were hoping for? but it is what happened somehow, oops, and i hope it's serviceable? i certainly enjoyed writing it!

Ben itches.

Not like, dangerously so. He just probably got a little sunburned on the back of his neck and it’s peeling, that’s all. Or maybe he brushed against some poison ivy the last time he and Sammy went on a hike. 

He scratches at the base of his scalp absentmindedly and sets the coffee cup down beside Sammy. “Here you go, man.” 

Sammy quirks an eyebrow at him—which, Ben will never stop being jealous that Sammy can do that and he can’t. “Feeling generous, are we?” He lifts the cup to his mouth to take a sip and _ there, _ that’s the moment Ben was looking for. When Sammy smells the cardamom and vanilla of the chai, his eyes go wide and a little smile tugs at the corners of his lips. For a second, all the stress and worry that line Sammy’s face almost constantly drop away.

“Good?” Ben asks, even though he already knows the answer. He wants to hear Sammy say it.

After a long, indulgent sip, Sammy grins at him. “Just what I needed. Thanks, buddy.” 

And Ben’s not a golden retriever or a dumbass knothead, and even if he was, Sammy’s not like an omega or anything so this is just… a normal interaction between friends. There’s no little thrill that runs up Ben’s spine at the thought of Sammy’s approval, and he definitely isn’t planning to show up tomorrow with another chai tea latte for a chance at seeing that little smile again. 

* * *

Ben does not have enough blankets. 

He’s stacked all of the ones he could find on his bed, from the lopsided one his mom made him when she was briefly into knitting to the cheap, scratchy one he has no memory of buying. There are only four of them, not counting the comforter on his bed already. 

All the blankets are a little warm, sure, but September in King Falls can get chilly without warning. Besides, it’s nice to be all toasty and cozy. 

Half an hour goes into arranging the blankets until he remembers the pillows on his couch, which would be the perfect structural element to get him something he and Sammy—or, not he and Sammy, just him, could nest into. 

Not that Ben is nesting. That’s stupid. 

He goes and gets the pillows anyway. 

If he can stack the big one at his headboard, then he can tuck a couple regular pillows in front of them for headrests and use the rest to shore up the sides. It’ll be perfect. 

Ben and Sammy both go to sleep early. Consequences of a late-night radio job. Even so, by the time Ben perfects his not-a-nest, it’s full dark outside. With a yawn, he curls into the dip in the blankets and pillows, ready to fall right to sleep. 

His neck itches again. When he goes to scratch it, his palms are hot and clammy and it’s possibly the least satisfying scratch he’s ever had. 

Someone’s whining, low and miserable, and it takes Ben a solid thirty seconds to realize it’s coming from him. The cheap blanket is prickling all along his arms and neck, and the pile of pillows is too big for just him. 

He sits up and yanks it away from the other blankets, balling it up and hurling it across the room. “Quality over quantity,” Ben mutters to himself as he pulls the other blankets back around himself. And then—“I gotta buy more blankets.” He shoves his head under the pillows and doesn’t dream about anything stupid like sitting Sammy down and making him take a nap and eat a full meal. 

* * *

A few months ago, Sammy and Ben had been watching a movie at Ben’s place, sitting an appropriately bro distance apart. 

Ben didn’t know why he’d opened his stupid mouth, really, it wasn’t like, a planned interrogation. It was only that Ben wasn’t subtle about his designation, he couldn’t be. When you were his  _ completely average _ height and build and had a tendency to jump around and sing musicals when you got excited, people made shitty assumptions about your designation unless you were very clear about it beforehand. So he blustered and made alpha jokes and, when necessary, snarled at dicks trying to cut in line at the grocery store or loom over him like they thought the little alpha would roll over at the first sign of teeth. 

Sammy, though. Sammy kept a tight, heavy lid on the vast majority of his personal details. For instance, it had taken Ben three months to learn his favorite color. (It was green, by the way. A deep, forest green, like sword ferns and moss.) He knew that Sammy clammed up whenever anyone asked about his past in any capacity, even if Sammy tried to hide it with jokes and brush-offs. 

And Sammy didn’t say anything or do anything that revealed his designation. Which, okay, Ben wasn’t an asshole, people were allowed to act like whatever they want regardless of their status as alpha, beta, or omega. It was just that usually people were way more obvious about it. 

Since Sammy hadn’t been obvious, in behavior or conversation, that probably meant it was another of those things about Sammy’s past he didn’t want to talk about, and Ben should have left it well enough alone. 

So Ben had no idea why he opened his dumb mouth and asked, “Are you an alpha?” 

(There was no obvious tell, not really. Ben hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, though. How when Ben was getting really worked up, Sammy would put his hand on Ben’s shoulder, just his shoulder, never his neck. Ben would relax into the touch in a heartbeat, every time. The satisfied look in Sammy’s eyes when it was his turn to pay for breakfast at Roses’s. And of course that time he’d punched Grisham.)

Sammy stiffened, every muscle in his body pulling taut. 

Ben spluttered, shaking his head and waving his arms incoherently. “I didn’t—I mean, you’re whoever you wanna be! It’s not—you’re not—I’m sorry?!” He buried his face into the couch cushions. “Can we pretend I never said that?” 

A cool hand on his arm pulled Ben out of the couch. Sammy was looking at him, eyes gray and soft as sea glass. 

“Most people guess beta,” Sammy said, and Ben hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing until Sammy spoke and Ben could  _ start _ breathing again. The fresh oxygen in his lungs was heady, and he almost didn’t realize what Sammy had actually said. 

Ben blinked and waited a second for further explanation that didn’t come. “Are they... right?” he asked, hesitant. 

“No, you got it,” Sammy confirmed. “Alpha.” It was his turn to hesitate, lips pulling back in something that wasn’t a snarl but that could be, given enough provocation. Ben didn’t think Sammy even knew he was doing it. “That’s not going to be an issue, is it?” 

“Jesus, no,” Ben blurted. “It’s—we’re fine, man, really! I’ve never had a problem with other alphas.” 

“Me neither,” Sammy agreed. 

“So...” Ben had trailed off. “We’re cool?” He risked smiling at Sammy, and any hint of a snarl on the other man’s face vanished as he smiled back. 

“We’re cool, Benny.” 

Ben had let the nickname slide, just that one time. 

* * *

And Ben hadn’t been lying, is the thing. He’s totally cool with having other alpha friends, he isn’t one of those territorial assholes, so whatever the fuck his emotions are doing with Sammy is  _ not  _ normal. 

They go to the library for research on an upcoming show, and Emily volunteers to help them. Emily is sweet and beautiful and Ben loves her in a deeply platonic way. 

When she smiles at them and lets them into the library, he wants to shut the door in her face. 

She wasn’t smiling solely at Sammy, Ben knows this. Even if she was, Sammy is gay, for god’s sake! So whatever nonsense that’s making Ben want to constantly shoulder his way between Sammy and Emily is just that: nonsense. 

Emily is another one of those people who’re obvious about their status, but she’s nothing at all like Ben. She knows what she’s doing as an omega and as a human being in general, and she acts like it. Every action is taken with a confidence that would make her beautiful even if she wasn’t already stunning. 

Ben could usually spend hours talking about paranormal myths and legends with her. 

This evening, he cannot get out of the library soon enough. His stupid neck is driving him crazy, and Emily keeps giving him these concerned glances, and the more she looks at him like that the more likely it is that Sammy’s going to notice something’s up with him. 

Not that anything’s up. 

In the end, Ben makes up something about feeling under the weather (not a difficult lie, given that he’s still sweaty and clammy and the longer he spends in a room with anyone other than Sammy the more he feels like he’s about to fall over) and flees to the relative safety of his apartment. 

He burrows into the  _ not a nest, it’s not a nest and it’s not for Sammy, _ and tries to regulate his own breathing. Even with the offending blanket removed, that awful itch keeps sending shivers down along his shoulders and back. 

* * *

Everything is under control. 

Ben sets the chai tea latte down on Sammy’s side of their table in the break room. Then he sets down the bag containing most of the pastries at Starbucks. There were a few he didn’t get—Sammy didn’t have Ben’s sweet tooth, he wouldn’t want the cake pops or the brownies. 

But he hadn’t been sure about the other ones, because Sammy didn’t eat enough breakfast so Ben had to get at least one sandwich, but everyone likes muffins so he had to get one of those too, and what if Sammy did want something sweeter? The pumpkin bread would be good for that, right? Or maybe the cheese danish. 

So he’d compromised and gotten anything he thought Sammy might like. 

Like he said, under control. 

“What’s the schedule for tonight, Ben?” Sammy asks. He picks up the chai without even looking at it, trusting Ben to have gotten what he wanted. There is nothing in Ben that shouts a victory cry at that trust. That would be silly and overdramatic. 

Ben clears his throat. “Um, we’ve got—hold on, I have to check my phone, I’ve got the schedule on there. While I pull it up—” he gestures to the bag of pastries on the table. “They, um…” It was possible Ben didn’t think this through. “Had a great sale? I didn’t want to miss out?” 

Sammy gives him a look that lets Ben know he is getting away with nothing. “Sure, buddy. Hey, are you sure you’re feeling better from the other night?” 

As enthusiastically as he can without risking dizziness, Ben nods. “Right as rain! Um, hey, have you ever tried their ham and cheese croissant? It’s actually really good!” He shoves the bag toward Sammy. “Anyway, our schedule...”

There is no way Ben is skimming the schedule while keeping an eye on Sammy to see if he eats anything Ben’s given him. Ben is giving his full attention to the schedule. 

“Uh... Intro, social media stuff, chill zone, ad break, the usual calls and so on. We’ve got a guest at five, I think, so that’ll be fun. Peter something or other. Talking about watering during a drought.” He shrugs. Sammy is looking in the bag now, pulling out one of the muffins and the croissant that Ben had suggested,  _ shit, what if he didn’t like it? _ But Sammy eats it and smiles to himself. So everything is fine, there’s no need to panic. 

Ben’s memory of reading the rest of the schedule is... uncertain, but Sammy nods at him like he’d read it completely coherently.

Zoning out is a reasonable thing to do at two am, surely. Ben feels fine. Just a little tired. And sweaty. At least his neck has mostly stopped itching, even if it’s aching now. He must have slept on it weird or something. 

Sammy gets up from the table, having finished his breakfast while Ben was lost in thought. “Good luck with our guest today, buddy,” he calls over his shoulder. “See you in the soundbooth!” 

Ben takes a closer look at the schedule. Peter… Myers. As in Pete Myers. Great. Just great. 

Normally, the AC in the station is almost too cold. Tonight, though, it feels sweltering in the recording area. The on-air light blinks at him, uncaring of the sweat beading on his forehead and making his shirt stick to his chest. Pete is prattling on about lawncare and HFB3, some bullshit Ben can barely pretend to give a fuck about. 

“—Not that either of you know anything about  _ real _ alphas,” Pete mutters under his breath, an addendum to some comment Ben hadn’t heard. 

Ben’s listening now. There’s a rumble in his chest that’s going to become a growl sooner or later, and he can’t growl on air, that would be  _ so  _ unprofessional, but goddammit he’d give anything to wipe that smug look off Pete’s face. 

“Pete! That was uncalled for and frankly, rude.” Sammy, thank every god that ever existed, is standing between Pete and Ben. “I’m sorry to cut your interview short, but you need to leave.” 

Pete scoffed. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? What’re you gonna do, small talk me into leaving?” 

It isn’t obvious to a stranger that Sammy slouches most of the time. At this point, though, Ben has spent enough time around him to recognize the way Sammy keeps his shoulders in and head down, trying to conceal the length of his body by any means possible. 

Sammy stands up straight, and he can’t be  _ that  _ much taller than Pete but he looks like he towers over him. “Pete Myers,” Sammy says, showing just a hint of teeth. “I think you should leave.” 

Pete yelps like a cub and starts backing towards the door until he bumps into it. He hastily gropes for the doorknob. “Jesus, what the fuck, I thought we were both betas! Mr. Beauregard will hear about this, you can’t keep secrets from him! This is a threat, and I will be bringing the full force of law down on both of you!” 

Sammy doesn’t follow Pete towards the door—he doesn’t need to. He just stands between Pete and Ben, with that same little curl to his lip that bares his teeth ever-so-slightly. “You’re going to call the police on us… because we ejected you from our studio for being rude? Sounds like a great plan, Pete. No way that could go wrong for you.” 

The moment Pete gets his hand around the doorknob he’s out of their studio like a shot, doubtless to complain to whoever will listen. 

In the ensuing silence, Ben realizes three things. 

  1. Sammy is so fucking hot. 
  2. It’s possible that Ben has been trying to nest.
  3. Holy shit, maybe he is in rut. 



He opens his mouth to make some excuse, but then Sammy turns to look at him and fuck, his eyes are intense and dark and Ben’s forgotten every word he’s ever known. Instead, he just whimpers a little, softly enough that the mics won’t pick it up. 

Not that that’s on purpose. Ben has less control over the sounds he’s making right now than he does over his own heartbeat. 

Sammy clears his throat and speaks up, every inch the professional velvet-voiced Shotgun Sammy to all their listeners. “Alright folks, that about wraps us up for the night here at the Sammy and Ben show!” He keeps going through their goodbyes, the social media listing, all of the important stuff that Ben can’t remember for the life of him. 

The on-air light switching off is the next thing he really focuses on, leaving the studio lit only by the dim glow of the shitty fluorescents Merv can’t be assed to replace. 

“You okay, Benny?” Sammy asks, and he’s kneeling in front of Ben’s chair. His hair is falling into his eyes, and Ben is struck by the urge to tuck it back into his bun. Or just to take Sammy’s hair down entirely and run his fingers through it. “Ben, I need you to help me out here, just for a minute.” 

Sammy’s voice is soft but strong, smoothed edges over a steel core. Ben wants to tuck Sammy into the nest he’d made and let him talk for hours, tell Ben what he wants and let Ben give it to him, no questions asked.

“Benny,” Sammy says again, and Ben shakes himself from his stupor.

“I’m listening,” he says, and he’s only half-lying. Listening, yes. Comprehending... less so.

“Are you in rut right now?”

“Um,” Ben answers, completely coherently. “No. M’fine.” The lie makes his neck itch again, and he rubs at the base of his scalp, knuckles digging in to try and relieve the soreness. 

Sammy reaches up to take his hands, bringing them back down to rest on Ben’s thighs. 

“Okay, buddy,” he murmurs. Ben gets the distinct feeling he’s being placated, but as long as Sammy keeps holding his hands and looking at him like that, he’s not going to complain. “What if we take my car back to your place anyway, though, just to be safe?”

Ben has to swallow a mouthful of saliva before he can speak. “Yeah.” He’s vaguely aware that he’s breathless, like one of those heroines in the old alpha-omega romance movies his mom used to watch when she thought he was asleep. “Sounds like a good idea.” 

* * *

Getting shepherded by Sammy from the studio to the car and home happens in a blur—Ben follows the comforting squeeze of Sammy’s hands more than he does anything else. He doesn’t come back to himself until Sammy parks the car outside his apartment complex. 

“Are you—” Ben’s chest is tight, and words don’t come easily. He whines again, a sharp, desperate sound, and Sammy doesn’t hesitate to lean across the dashboard and pull Ben into a hug.

The physical contact is more grounding than Ben ever would have guessed. Between the solid pressure of Sammy’s hands on his shoulders and back and the subtle clean scent of Sammy’s hair, Ben almost feels like a person again. 

He tries to speak again, and the words are mumbled but legible. “Are you staying?” 

“Of course, Benny,” Sammy murmurs, and Ben can’t pretend he doesn’t love the way his name sounds when Sammy says it. He presses his face into Sammy’s neck, noses at the soft skin there. Sammy’s breath hitches. “Come on,” he says, and sits back into his own chair. “Let’s get inside, okay?” 

Ben clambers out of his car the moment it’s clear Sammy won’t hug him again until they’re inside. He’s tugging Sammy out of his seat—or, well, Sammy is letting Ben tug him out of his seat. Ben thinks he could tug him though, if he tried. 

Sammy may be taller, but Ben knows his own body, his own strength, in a way he doesn’t think Sammy’s ever tried to do. Something about a lifetime spent running up against his own limits and never backing down. Not till his elbows were bruised and bloody and he couldn’t stay on his feet, and even then figuring out how to keep his teeth bared to sink into the next challenge. 

If he’s honest, Ben does want to challenge Sammy, a little. Wants to see Sammy with his hackles raised, standing tall like he did in the studio. 

The problem is that he’s not sure if he wants to win or not, and he also wants to curl up with Sammy in his nest and eat popcorn. Rational thought is not Ben’s strong suit at the best of times, and this is far from the best of times, but he’s pretty sure those are conflicting desires. 

There is a possibility he’s herding Sammy towards the door. 

Not in a rude way! Just… staying present at his sides and back, and maybe nudging him a little with a shoulder or hip-checking him if he dawdles. Ben is pretty sure Sammy is dawdling on purpose to get Ben to nudge him anyway (he knows that little smirk Sammy does when he’s trying to wind Ben up), so he doesn’t feel that guilty about it. 

They make it inside with a minimum of shoving, and Sammy heads straight for Ben’s couch. That’s decidedly not where Ben wants to spend their morning, but he’s lost the ability to make words again.

He pulls Sammy into the hallway to his bedroom. When Sammy tilts his head, asking without saying anything, Ben just chuffs at him. The low, rough sound is decidedly not one Ben had known he could make, but Sammy’s answering smile and the way he follows Ben without hesitation are all Ben needs to keep going. 

“Not in rut, are we?” Sammy teases, taking in the mound of pillows and blankets Ben had put together. 

Ben doesn’t bother retaliating. It’s more than enough to put his hands on Sammy’s shoulders and push, just barely, and have Sammy fall back onto the nest Ben had built for the both of them. 

Sammy trusts Ben that there’ll be a cushion there when he falls. 

Ben has to take a moment to appreciate the sight of Sammy curled around Ben’s pillows, on Ben’s bed. He’s grinning, lazy and happy and relaxed in a way Ben’s not sure he’s ever seen before. 

His own rut hormones are probably having an affect on Sammy—making him feel that same protected-safe-warmth glow Ben’s feeling right about now. 

It’s a good look on him. 

Ben discards any sense of self control and lets himself collapse onto his bed and onto Sammy in equal measures. Sammy lets out an  _ oof _ as the wind gets knocked out of him, but doesn’t complain. He noses at Ben’s hairline, pressing a kiss to the top of his forehead. Ben hums a little, too happy to be completely quiet. 

Sammy hums back, and the vibrations of the sound thrum where Ben is pressed to Sammy’s chest.

They’ve barely been in Ben’s nest for thirty seconds and he already feels… calmer. Settled, somehow, for the first time all week. The itch in his neck is gone completely, and for once he doesn’t want to vibrate out of his skin. 

There’ll be time later for the other instincts that come with the rut. 

For now, Ben thinks, as he closes his eyes and tucks his head into Sammy’s neck again, this is all he needs. 

**Author's Note:**

> lmk if you liked!!! if anyone's interested, there could be a smutty sequel........ shout out in the comments if that's an appealing idea! or just shout literally anything in the comments, i'm very bad responding to them but i do adore reading them.


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